


Sworn

by chipperdyke



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 21:47:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17733278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chipperdyke/pseuds/chipperdyke
Summary: Just what you think it is, except the Dragonborn is an anti-hero so it's a little rape-ey.





	Sworn

The first night, it was just an exploration of possibility. I told Lydia that my bedroll was large enough for two, and that she would not be needing her own. In the red light of the dusk, her eyes flashed in question.

It was the first night out of Whiterun on the way to the Seven Thousand Steps, and thank the gods she'd finally taken off that abominable helmet. It revealed an Imperial face not unlike my own, fuller-lipped, with a stubborn set of brow that I thought likely served her well in other situations. She'd follow me, as the Jarl had asked, but her spirit was not cowed by that fact. I liked it that way.

I wondered what her experience was. Had she had some sweet teenage lover, maybe a Nord with soft hands and long, blond hair? Had his lips tickled her breasts, and had they giggled together with the forbidden romance of it? I would not offer her that, but it was a good thought to have - that she had been loved thoroughly, once in her life.

She stripped down to her armor's padding and lay in my bedding. I hadn't lied - it was large enough for two. She lay on her side, facing away from me, and I lay in my back and watched the cloudy, starless sky until I thought she had calmed enough.

I turned in the roll and let my front touch her back. A thrill ran through me. She was frozen, still. Her breath was shallow. Still she did not move away.

I put my hand on her sturdy hip. She was bigger than me, thick and strong where I am wiry and quick. I breathed on her neck and wondered if having this woman close enough to hold at night might be satisfying enough.  

Her body twitched a little, and I realized that I had nestled closer. My hips were snug against her backside. I gripped her hip more tightly, and her breath sped up.

“What is a housecarl?” I murmured into her ear, despite myself.

“I will serve your needs,” Lydia told me breathlessly, and that was enough to stir the hotness in my blood, so that I ground myself against her and slipped my fingers between her tunic and trousers. The silky skin begged for more. Goosebumps followed the trail of my fingers on her stomach and back. 

_ My whore is what you are, _ I thought cruely. Still she dipped her hips and gasped, and so I fondled her breasts and wet clit until she shuddered and quaked under my touch.

“Is - is there anything else I can do?” she asked when it was over. 

“Not tonight,” I told her. I smelled her musk and sweat. I pressed my lips on her neck and tasted it. 

“Oh,” she said softly. I could feel her body relaxing, finally. She snored.

The next day I sneered at the idea that she could protect me. “Best to put that away,” I told her of her sword, but my command didn't extend to her direct engagement with the bandits that held a watchtower on our way. She sidestepped my fire handily, and skewered two of them, which was more kills than I could count. At the end of it, she turned to me and whipped off her helmet, a fire in her eye, and I pressed her against the wall of the tower and kissed her for the first time.

She melted happily under the attention, which was gratifying in a way I hadn't expected. There was something raw and innocent about this woman. She was young, and eager. She trembled and nearly smiled when I let her go. 

She must admire me. She knew nothing about me, and never would. She must think that the Dragonborn was virtuous. She thinks that we are beginning a hero's journey together. 

She is wise enough that she does not approach me, though. She helps rifle through the bandits’ belongings, like we are common thieves. She sends me glances, sometimes, but does not wilt when they are not returned. She has some hardness to her. I think that she will travel with me for a time, and perhaps die by some stray arrow. 

The second night, in the empty watchtower, she picks a bed and sits forlornly, letting me alone to study the books we’d found. She watches the fire I lit, and the flames dance in the hollows of her cheek. I set down my books, take off my hood, and kneel at her feet, letting the flames light my face, too. Does she know the white milkiness of my ruined eye? Are the rivulets of my scar too deep for her to tolerate, will she flinch away from a face that shows a long life lived in peril before this turn of fate?

She studies my face silently, and then she says, “You are so beautiful.” 

That wasn't what I had exactly expected, and I find myself nearly flustered. I rock back on my heels. 

I don’t know what she reads of my expression, but she flushes more deeply and doesn’t say anything else until I have pushed her down into the cot and straddled her hips. Last night was an exploration, but tonight I intend to remind her that I have a body as well as hands. 

Though I had planned to stay in control, she was not as inexperienced as I feared, and some feral instinct set in that left me pleasurably receptive, on my back as she did what she wished with me. What she wished was good. I decided to keep her alive for as long as I could, but pushed her away when her kisses became too light, in the aftermath. She didn’t mean to take advantage of this softness she’d induced in me, I know. There was too much honesty in the caress, a careful and delicate easing of the lust I knew she must still feel, bowing to my pace. I knew when she kissed me afterward that she thought that this made us lovers.

I pulled the blankets up around my naked shoulders and turned into the wall, and she folded into my back. One big hand curled around my own. Even in the shadows I saw the veins; the rushing of her blood was audible. 

I let her hold me. She was warm, and I liked the feeling of her beside me. 

We traveled together to Riften, where the Thieves Guild troubled the locals. Finding no solution, I ignored the political strife. This was far away from the Imperial City, and I knew nothing of the politics in this land.

We travelled to the College of the Mages in Winterhold. Lydia went with me to the dig site, and bedded down with me in a small excavation, where I had to gag her to keep her exhalations from echoing through the tunnels. She enjoyed my roughness. Her ardor was not diminished by the hardness of the road. If anything, she was more enthusiastic now than she had been before. I could read anything in her eye, and hoped it was not what I could not give. 

So I sent her to stay in Whiterun. I didn't release her from service - that would be too cruel. But some separation must be welcome, I thought, because I could see that she suspected the truth of my feelings. 

It was true that I held an affection for her, like you would for a well-trained hound. She was competent - actually, indispensable, as I was fragile in battle and she did an excellent job of withstanding assault. The first time she put a healing potion down my throat, she had actually moaned in fear. She had absorbed four of the blows that had put me down, and blood was dripping off her brow and onto the front of my robe, but she held me gingerly and walked me up, out the caves I don't remember which, and made a camp where she cared for me.

After that, I learned healing magic. There was something too self-consciously romantic about her attentions. I did not want to need her. Perhaps that, also, was why I sent her to Whiterun. 

When I returned, I purchased Breezehome. I found her visiting her parents for lunch, and brought her with me to look in it. It was strange to see her in finery. It was more flattering than the worn soldier's breastplate. She was stunning, if I was honest with myself. She hadn't any warning to prepare for me, and still she was. 

“The Proventus didn't say it would be so run-down,” I complained immediately.

Lydia smiled shyly at me. “A house shall not be so hard to clean and beautify, my Thane,” she told me.

“Your services are needed elsewhere,” I told her. I tugged on the bottom of her blouse, nudging her to face me. She put her hands on my shoulders, and somehow it was not like she was towering over me, but that she was a maid and I was a worthy suitor. Maybe it was her clothes, or her demeanor. It was not mine, and I was not worthy.

She had seduced me again, so quickly. I had not wanted to continue violating her after our month apart.

She read hesitation in my look, and stepped back. “Look, all it needs is some cleaning, and dusting.” She moved ahead of me, and there was the businesslike stride, long-legged. I followed after her, admiring her. The prostitute in Winterhold had tasted of ash and cheap cosmetics, and had been overeager. I had decided to leave quickly, though I still paid what I had promised. 

Lydia was hearty, like a boiled stew with potatoes and a good cut of meat. I followed her up the stairs and caught her at the landing, pressing her against the boards of the bare siding. “We'll pay someone to fix it up,” I told her, looking between her lips and her eyes. Her mouth opened slightly, cutely. “I need you with me.”

There, I'd said it without meaning it. She melted. I nearly took her standing at the wall, but she had seen the bed beyond and brought me there. Her pace was frenetic. The skin blushed darkly on her neck, and she would not rest or submit until she had her fingers inside me, though I had planned on having her. These, the perils of a woman who knows what she wants. The danger of distance is that a small affection may fade with it, but a true affection only grows to consume you. I watched her and coughed when the dust on the rafters dumped on our heads, for all that she slammed that bed against the wall. She apologized and changed her angle, and I reached down between her legs.

She welcomed the touch with a throaty sound, rocking up so that my fingers found their way inside her. And then, rather than pulling out of me, she focused her eyes on mine and thrust deeply into me. She settled her legs around my thigh and ground down, her hand a fist by my head, the other driving into me. 

The eye contact was unbearable. I turned my head away, and she shuddered and rippled around my fingers, finishing more quickly than she ever had. 

She moved quickly to settle back between my legs, wrapping one arm behind my back. In her passion she nearly lifted me from the bed, and then her body was against mine, tightly. I wrapped my arms around her slick skin and she sucked my neck. Her eyes caught mine, fiery. If what she wanted was to consume me, I decided in this heat of passion that I would let her. 


End file.
